


been saving it all for you

by cherryvanilla



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-14
Updated: 2011-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-15 15:42:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...until I found you." AU in which Arthur meets Eames on a New York City street corner. Originally written as commentfic for cherrybina, who prompted Jailbait!Eames</p>
            </blockquote>





	been saving it all for you

**Author's Note:**

> Eames is nearly 17, Arthur is 25.

Arthur’s bored with his job. He’s 25-year-old Paralegal living in New York City. He’s the most reliable Para at his firm, and most likely the best if his latest Christmas bonus is anything to go on. He can speed write a brief in no time, whip up an appeal and actually argue that the Dream Sharing account (the firm’s largest and most important) isn’t a violation of basic human and civil rights.

Arthur’s good at what he does and he makes good money but that doesn’t mean he isn’t bored to death. Or something else, perhaps – a voice in his head whispers _lonely_ but he rallies against it and stands to exit the subway train. Arthur takes the steps up to the street slowly. His bones ache and he feels double his age. It’s snowing slightly and Arthur nearly rolls his eyes at himself while mentally cataloguing the rest of his evening: a stop at the health food store near his apartment for his standard chopped salad (no variation in the ingredients), a layout of his suit for the next day (complete with color coordinated tie and matching dress socks), and finally plopping on his comfortable sofa with his laptop and a Sam Adams while assessing the latest porn sites and deciding which hot young men will be the two to bring him off that evening before he passes out (usually still on the couch, with only his tie undone and his shoes off) and does it all over again tomorrow.

He loosens his tie a little from beneath his coat and walks, eyes unfocused, not landing on anyone in particular he passes. He always notices the tables off to the side of the street though, and will glance casually for any latest knock-offs. He rarely buys, as he prefers the real thing when he can afford it – but he’s also a habitual browser. Tonight, there’s something new set up along his normal path – mostly wallets and a few money clips splayed out against black cloth. What’s behind the table is far more interesting, however: a kid, wearing dark jeans, a navy T-shirt and far too light of a leather jacket for this weather. His hair is brown with specs of blonde and it falls across his eyes in thick strands. Arthur wonders if it feels as soft as it looks, and finds himself wanting to brush away the random snowflakes caught within. He stops in front of the table and starts looking at the wallets, more pretense than anything else. One does catch his interest, however, and he takes it between his gloved hands, hoisting his leather messenger bag higher onto his shoulder in the process. He opens the folds and can feel the kid staring at him. He keeps repeating the word _kidkidkid_ in his mind, willing his feet to start moving before --

“That’s a good match for you,” the kid says. Arthur startles, not expecting the words nor the accent. He feels his throat close and forces himself to look up. Upon his blank stare, the kid nods toward the wallet, his mouth curving into a sly grin.

Arthur makes a non-committal noise and tries not to think of what those curve of lips just did to his dick. “How much?”

“Normally 20, but for you – 10.”

Arthur’s mouth quirks up and he allows himself to meet the kid’s gaze. “Hope you don’t do all your business that way.” He’s also thinking about how he’d like to wrap himself up in this kid’s accent and set up shop there.

“Nah, discounts only for the devastatingly attractive.” The little bastard has the audacity to wink and his face is so open, as though he doesn’t have a care in the world which Arthur knows can’t be true.

“That’s a risky move,” Arthur says, eyes narrowing.

The kid leans his hands on the table and itches forward. “Not really, again – only do it when it’s a sure bet,” he responds, voice lowering a fraction of an inch, and Arthur may be spending a lot with his own hand lately but he still knows flirting when he hears it.

“And what makes you so sure I am?”

The kid shrugs and straightens. “I’m good at reading people. S’gift.”

Arthur nods and looks down at the wallet, feigning interest in the item. “So, how old are you?” It comes out far less offhanded than he’d hoped and he can nearly feel the kid’s smirk penetrating his skin.

When the kid doesn’t respond, Arthur forces himself to look up. The boy is staring at him in a way that takes his breath away. He leans forward again. “However old you want me to be,” he replies, without irony. Arthur barks out a laugh and a second later the kid is joining him.

“Oh, I cannot believe you just said that.”

The kid just grins wider and Arthur feels his mouth go dry. They stare at each other for long seconds before Arthur clears his throat and looks at the boy pointedly.

“I’ll be 17 next week.”

Arthur raises his eyebrows in disbelief.

The kid holds up his hands. “Honestly, my birthday is next week. Here,” and then he’s fishing into his back pocket, retrieving his wallet. “Have a look,” he says and flings a card at Arthur which turns out to be his green card with a name and yep… a birthday next week.

“So, your name’s..” handing back the card.

“Just call me Eames,” he says, pocketing it blindly. “Everyone does.”

“Okay... I’m Arthur.”

Eames shakes his hand and in the moment between their palms touching and their fingers releasing, Arthur loses any resolve he had. Because even through the thin cloth of his gloves he could feel how Eames had stroked his palm with intent – could feel the strength in his grip. Now Arthur was left shifting his weight and sticking his hands into his coat pockets just so he could do something with them because whatever he was thinking was wrong, regardless of Eames’ consent and he forced himself to remember that.

“Where are your parents?”

Eames rolls his eyes. “My dad’s back in London, just me and Mum right now till he can transfer over.”

Arthur takes this in, wondering if it’s a lie, still not fully convinced that Eames isn’t really Oliver Twist.

And Eames must not have been kidding about those people reading skills because he throws Arthur a terribly patient look and says, “I go to school here in the city. I just want to make a few bucks – one of my mates knows a guy who gets all this shit – so he’s letting us man the booth. I’m actually off in a few, my mate will be back.”

Arthur’s brain is still wheeling from all of this when, true to his word, Eames’ ‘mate’ arrives. Arthur tries not to eavesdrop, busying himself with the money clips and then he hears ‘cheers’ and in a blink Eames is standing right beside him, their arms pressed together.

“We leaving?” Eames asks, low and breathy, and Arthur’s mouth can’t work, his brain a complete haze of confusion and blinding want.

Arthur nods once and turns on heel, walking briskly. Eames keeps his pace and their arms brush again. When Eames slides a finger down Arthur’s coat sleeve, Arthur snaps and pulls Eames under the awning of a cell phone shop.

“Are you sure?” Arthur asks, breathing heavy, because he has to know, he has to.

Eames just smiles openly at him again. “Yeah, more than anything.” His eyes are shining under the store lights and Arthur gives into temptation then: tucks a strand of Eames’ hair behind his ear. He can hear Eames’ breath catch.

“I’m 25, just so you know. And I don’t.. I never do this.”

Eames grins and does up one of Arthur’s coat buttons; it’s the sexiest things Arthur has experienced in month. “Men or random hook-ups?”

Arthur nudges at Eames and they start walking again. “Uh, more like: gorgeous boys on street corners who could get me thrown in jail.”

“Mmm. So you _are_ into random hook-ups then?” Eames says, amused.

They’re three blocks from Arthur’s apartment now and he tries to think how to answer that. “Not.. sometimes at bars but.” He doesn’t know how to say that he’d gladly have seen the person again in the day time – for more sex but also to talk a little bit, except it doesn’t happen. Since his last serious boyfriend three years ago there’s been a string of one night stands, but not for lack of trying on Arthur’s part. “Let’s just say it’s not really my thing,” Arthur finally decides on. Although this kid probably knows all of his secrets just by looking at him.

With two blocks to go, Arthur forces himself to ask, “And do you? Do this a lot?” He doesn’t really want to know the answer; doesn’t exactly want to just a string of conquests this teenage Casanova undoubtedly has. And honestly, it’s only his own lack of sexual self-confidence as of late that is making Arthur feel this way; that’ll happen when you haven’t been laid in three months. In the light of day, in his professional life, he could chew this kid up and spit him out.

“Nah,” the kid says vaguely, and the unspoken words there gives Arthur pause. Something tightens in his stomach but he pushes it away until they reach his apartment because this isn’t something to do on the street.

Arthur unlocks the outer door and ascends the stairs first, with Eames on his heels. Once inside, Arthur sheds his coat and gestures for Eames to grab a drink if he wants. Arthur’s blood is pounding as he hangs up his coat and moves to remove his tie. Thinking better of it he decides to let it hang loose, and instead unbuttons his shirt collar.

Arthur pads to the bathroom and throws some water on his face. Staring at his reflection he takes a deep breathe and steps into the other room. Eames is standing in his kitchen, drinking a coke. His jacket is resting on the counter as Arthur doesn’t have a kitchen table or chairs.

There’s no point ignoring it any longer. “Am I your first?”

Eames laughs. The sound lacks the openness from before, edging into guarded territory. “If that’s what gets you off, yeah, sure.”

And Arthur may have just met this kid, but he also works with enough attorneys to know deflection when he hears it.

Arthur moves forward and crowds Eames against the kitchen. He’s hoping for a flare of fear the kid’s eyes; it would prove his point and moreover, it would cause Arthur to stop this immediately. Instead, Eames’ eyes go dark with arousal and he fingers the fabric of Arthur’s tie. Arthur ignores the shiver that runs up his spine, refuses to think about how they’re both the same height and how if he presses just an inch closer he’ll find the heat of an erection stiff against his thigh.

“Eames,” he warns, and fixes him with a penetrating stare. He’s rewarded about 20 seconds later.

“Bloody hell. Alright, sort of,” Eames groans in frustration and rests his head back against the fridge, rolling it to one side and not quite meeting Arthur’s gaze. It’s the most vulnerable he’s seen him since their brief acquaintance. “I’ve messed around with blokes a school, you know.. snoggin’, wanks, the lot, but I’ve never.. and not with … you know, a _man_ ,” Eames admits, and his hands were flailing a little while he talked and he’s biting his lip and jesus christ, Arthur should not be this turned on.

Arthur raises a hand and cups Eames’ jaw, gently turning his face. As their eyes meet, Arthur watches the last traces of uncertainty fade from Eames’ face, replaced again with blinding want.

Arthur drags his thumb over the fullness of Eames’ bottom lip, feels it tremble beneath his hand. “You want me to show you how good it can be?” Arthur whispers, and then groans at the brief tease of Eames’ tongue against the pad of his thumb.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” says Arthur, and he slides his fingers down Eames’ neck, curving around his shoulder and cupping the hard muscle, forcing Eames’ head to arch back against the fridge and his body to surge upward toward Arthur’s own. Arthur gives in and presses their bodies together, letting Eames feel exactly what he’s doing to him.

Eames’ eyes fall closed and he lets out a stuttering breath. “Oh, my god,” he moans, and rocks up against Arthur, his hand reaching around to rest on the small of Arthur’s back. Arthur lets out a choked moan and leans forward, slowly, his fingers curling into long hair (soft, _yes_ ) at the back of Eames’ neck, his eyes trained on Eames’ as he darts his tongue out to swipe between the seam of Eames’ lips.

Arthur’s tongue retreats immediately. Eames watches him through half-lidded eyes. “Please,” he gasps, and rolls his hips insistently against Arthur’s. Arthur has to will himself not to come. It’s been _three fucking months_ and it’s sensation overload between Eames’ hard cock pressing oh god, _right there_ , there against his own, straining against his dress pants, and Eames’ left hand moving in small circles on the small of his back, willing Arthur not to move, the heat of his palm lighting Arthur’s insides on fire.

And then there’s Eames’ right hand which is still fingering his tie, sliding the fabric against the now sweaty skin of Arthur’s neck. As if Eames is reading his mind, he takes that moment to slowly tug the material from his body, letting it fall casually to the floor. Then Eames is pressing hot fingers to the bare skin at Arthur’s collarbone and good fucking christ, Arthur can’t anymore.

He takes Eames’ lips in a hard, brutal kiss, working his lips open with his tongue and slotting their mouths together. Eames gasps into the contact and wraps both of his arms around Arthur’s back, his fingers fumbling in a desperate manner that Arthur can feel – it’s thrumming through Eames’ entire body. He tugs Arthur’s shirt out of his pants, runs his hands over the bare expanse of Arthur’s back like he has to touch him everywhere. Arthur moans his appreciation into the kiss and deepens it, thrusting his cock hard against Eames’. Eames makes a noise and all of a sudden Arthur finds himself supporting Eames’ weight, the boy having levered himself up against the fridge to wrap his legs around Arthur’s waist, his fingernails scraping up and down Arthur’s back.

“Jesus Christ,” Arthur pants, breaking the seal of their lips and bending his head to suck on Eames’ neck. They don’t even have their clothes off yet. Eames pants harshly against his ear and Arthur can feel the race of his pulse beneath his lips. He makes sure not to leave any marks, licking at Eames’ skin. He smells like ivory soap and tastes salty and perfect. “Fuck, I want you,” Arthur gasps when Eames’ fingers dip lower, beneath the waist of his pants and against the curve of his ass.

“Take me,” Eames says in response. Arthur’s cock twitches painfully and he steps back, letting Eames’ legs fall to the floor. He runs a hand through his now thoroughly un-gelled hair and takes a gulping breath. Eames’ face is flushed, patches of red painting his cheekbones. His pupils are blown wide, eyes round. He has strands of hair sticking to his forehead and his lips are bitten blood red.

 _I did that_ , Arthur thinks, and he feels his dick twitch again. “Do you have to call your mom?” Arthur asks, forces himself to because this has to happen now.

“No, she doesn’t expect me till later.” Eames’ voice is rough and uneven.

Arthur nods. “Good.” He takes a step closer and relishes in the way it makes Eames’ eyes flare. Arthur licks at Eames’ lips with his tongue, lewdly, until he coaxes Eames’ out and pulls back until it’s just their tongues touching, hot and dirty. “Because I want you in my bed,” Arthur says, breaking the contact and pulling Eames toward the bedroom.

They make-out against the hallway wall. It’s Eames’ fault entirely, palming Arthur’s ass and whispering how hot he is. “You’re gonna make me come,” Eames moans from where Arthur has him pressed against the wall, Eames’ hands over his head while Arthur ruts against him like he’s the teenager of the two.

“Not until I destroy you with my tongue,” Arthur promises and he feels Eames’ dick leap beneath his hips.

Arthur allows himself to at least rid Eames of his shirt, pulling the soft fabric up and off in one slick motion. He runs his hands over Eames’ chest, hard and muscular but not overly so. He lets his fingers brush against the light hair he finds, traces it down Eames’ belly and then runs his palm over the outline of Eames’ cock through his jeans.

“Arttthhur,” Eames whines, his head falling back with a loud thunk.

Arthur shakes himself and bites his lip. “Bedroom, seriously,” Arthur chokes out and walks ahead of Eames until he knows he’s made it to safety. Arthur turns on the bedside light, because _fuck_ he wants to see this, and starts to undo the buttons on his shirt. He feels Eames come up behind him, strong arms reaching around to cup his erection. Arthur leans back, letting his head fall against his shoulder for a second before gathering his bearings.

Arthur attacks Eames’ mouth, and lifts his hands until Eames’ gets the hint. Eames slowly peels Arthur out of his shirt, and then rids him of his white undershirt in an instant whirl. Arthur maneuvers Eames so his back is to the bed and then he sinks to his knees, his eyes never leaving Eames’ face. Arthur smirks when Eames’ eyes grow wide and his mouth falls slightly open.

He deftly undoes Eames’ jeans and nuzzles his cheek against his yellow boxers, feeling the heat against his skin. Arthur slides them down Eames’ muscular thighs, pressing his fingers into Eames’ hipbones. Eames gasps and Arthur can feel the expectation radiating through his body.

Eames is thick and large and fucking gorgeous. Arthur holds him at the base and licks one long swipe from bottom to tip. He’s rewarded with pre-cum and laps it up gratefully, reveling in the way Eames’ thighs are shaking beneath his hands.

Arthur stands then. “What--?” Eames’ face is beautiful open mix of frustration and desire and Arthur has to kiss him. Eames grabs him close and then Arthur feels fumbling hands at his pants. Eames manages to get his button undone but nearly catches Arthur’s dick in the zipper. Arthur hisses and steps back. “Slow down,” he soothes. He steps out of his pants and underwear and watches Eames do the same. They stare openly at one another, not bothering to hide it. Arthur watches Eames lick his lips as his gaze trails down to Arthur’s cock and he feels heat coil at the base of his spine.

Arthur moves into Eames’ space and laces their fingers together. He kisses Eames slow and wet, mouth barely moving, just pressure and heat. Arthur bites at corner of Eames’ mouth, “Get on your hands and knees for me, baby,” it’s nearly a question, conveying Eames has every chance to say no.

Eames growls and kisses Arthur roughly, biting into his mouth and fucking him with his tongue, _christ_ that tongue…

“Fuck, yes,” Eames says when he breaks away. He scoots onto the bed, up to the pillows and rests his face against his folded hands. Arthur takes in sight of his ass, round and hard and up in the air just for him. He inhales sharply and squeezes his dick hard at the base before kneeling behind Eames.

Arthur runs his hand along Eames’ side and across his lower back; Eames shivers at the touch of his hands. Arthur spares a thought for what Eames thinks is about to happen and what actually is – he hopes it will be appreciated. Arthur slides the tip of his index finger along Eames’ crack and murmurs, “you’re going to love this.” Without giving Eames a chance to respond, he spreads Eames’ cheeks wide and lowers his head. Eames cries out instantly, the sound sharp and surprised.

Arthur teases his tongue along Eames’ hole, feeling the muscle clench at his inquiry. Arthur moans lightly and dips his tongue deeper; Eames spasms against him. Arthur listens to the rough pant of his breathing and moans encouragingly when Eames begins to thrust back against his tongue. Arthur licks a long strip up his crack, then bites lightly at his cheek. “You like this, baby?”

“Oh my god,” Eames breathes, ragged.

“Fuck my mouth,” Arthur mutters and goes back to his task, not holding back now, his tongue pointed and hard, thrusting in and out of Eames’ hole without rhythm, just sloppy abandon that Arthur rarely affords himself. He loves rimming; loves the feel and taste and can’t get enough of making someone fall apart here with just his tongue.

Arthur pulls Eames’ cheeks apart as wide as he can and laps him up, until their both a wet, dripping mess. Eames is babbling nonsense like ‘oh bloody hell’, ‘so fucking hot’, ‘your fucking tongue, Arthur, oh my _god_ ’ while he jerks his hips back repeatedly. And then Arthur has himself pressed against Eames’ back and he’s jerking him from behind, spreading pre-cum up an down Eames’ cock and honestly, he can’t believe Eames has lasted this long.

“You’ve got stamina,” Arthur groans against the back of Eames’ neck, shivering at how much of a turn-out that actually is.

“Mm,” says Eames and twists out from under Arthur until they’re facing one another. “It’s you yanks who don’t,” he grins. Arthur swats at his shoulder playfully and they wrestle until Arthur is straddling his hips. Arthur takes them both in his hand and Eames’ eyes fall closed, his back arching to expose the beautiful long line of his neck.

“You want my mouth on you again?”

Eames reaches up and runs his hands down Arthur’s arms. “Please.”

Arthur thumbs Eames’ lips. “So pretty when you beg,” and then he’s sliding down Eames’ body, pulling at his nipples and paying loving attention to every single patch of skin, taking his time like he knows no one ever has with the body beneath him. Arthur’s said things to Eames tonight that he’s never said to anyone. The second he found out Eames was mostly a virgin it’s like a switch flipped in his brain: he could be what this kid needed – he could be fucking incredible and not have to worry about living up to any kind of expectation. Arthur takes Eames’ dick in his mouth unhurriedly; he licks at him, feeling the vein bulge beneath his tongue. Eames thrashes above him, and rests his hand on the side of Arthur’s head, as if wondering if he could. Arthur grasps it in his own, pulling it toward his hair while swallowing Eames to the base. Automatically, Eames’ fingers pull at Arthur’s hair and his hips jerk shallowly upward. Arthur gladly takes both.

Arthur rolls Eames’ balls beneath his fingers, and feels them rise and tighten. He knows he isn’t going to last and so he makes this good, hollowing his cheeks and driving down faster, harder, while Eames fucks his mouth; his lips feel raw and stretched around Eames’ thick cock, ramming his own hips over and over again into the sheets, leaving them slick.

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna, I’m. Arthur!” Eames says before exploding in his mouth. Arthur sucks him all the way down, feeling Eames’ cum hit the back of his throat in a rush.

Arthur vibrates a moan around Eames’ dick, lets him feel the hum of it. Eames’ hands clench and unclench in Arthur’s hair, hips faltering in their rhythm until Arthur finally releases him, licking idly at the sensitive skin until Eames’ shifts away.

“Oh bloody hell,” Eames pants, and then he’s reaching for Arthur. Arthur shifts above him, angling so he’s not in contact with Eames’ cock before rolling Eames onto his side and kissing him everywhere he can reach.

“What do you want?” Eames asks and he sounds so earnest that Arthur can hardly breathe. What does he want? Christ, everything.

Arthur pulls tugs at Eames until he’s on top of Arthur, so he can feel his strong thighs. He thinks of those thighs wrapped around him, squeezing the life out of his back while he fucks into the heat of Eames’ ass. He shakes his head visibly and licks at Eames’ bottom lips. “Want your mouth. That okay?”

Eames gives him that put upon patient look again. “Fuck yeah, it is,” and then he mimics Arthur’s prior actions, paying careful attention to his nipples and stomach, licking across his ribcage and it makes Arthur smile between gasps; this kid is already on his way to being one hell of a lover.

Eames buries his nose in the hair at Arthur’s groin and Arthur can feel him inhale. Then his tongue is licking at the crease of Arthur’s thigh and those lips, those fucking lips, are rubbing at the head, letting it slip in between and then pulling back again to tease the slit with his tongue. “Eames,” Arthur moans because Christ, he’s a _tease_. Arthur brings his hands to Eames’ hair, combs it back affectionately, then ruffles it and lets his fingers slide against his scalp. Arthur just holds him there, not pushing, while Eames sinks lower, trying to deep throat him and nearly managing. Arthur sighs and watches the scene before him, groaning at the sight of himself disappearing between dark red flesh.

Eames sucks him harder and with more intent. He fingers Arthur’s balls and runs a flat palm up and down Arthur’s thigh, pushing between to push almost curiously at his hole. Arthur spreads his legs wider and Eames readjusts his position, probing at Arthur dryly but fails to seek entrance.

Arthur moans and bucks his hips, just barely, thrusting minutely into the glorious heat of Eames’ mouth, feeling Eames’ tongue drag across his cock in long, sure licks. Eames stretches his lips wider, takes Arthur deeper and then Arthur feels it at the base of his spine and in his balls and he tugs at Eames’ hair, a little too hard and says, “Eames, let me, I’m gonna come,” and tries to pull him off but Eames refuses, just sucks Arthur harder and Arthur groans and gasps, his mouth dropping open on a gasp and his hips rocking as white heat exploding behind his eyes.

Arthur’s still panting shallowly while Eames gradually licks him clean then wipes at his own mouth, his tongue darting to catch the fluid that hit his chin. It’s the hottest thing Arthur’s ever seen.

Arthur pulls Eames up by his arms, whispering, “jesus, come here,” and they lay for long minutes just breathing and kissing lazily. They lay there, not talking, until Eames says, “I guess I should be going,” and Arthur flashes back to every single one of his bar one night stands with fake excuses except this time he knows the reason: Eames has to get home to his mother, good fucking god.

Arthur gets them each a wet cloth and pulls on some sweatpants. When he returns he finds Eames in the hallway gathering up his shirt and follows him to the kitchen, watching him shrug on his jacket. Arthur doesn’t know what to say; the sudden reality of this slamming into him.

He walks Eames to the door and they stand there in uncomfortable silence. Eames looks slightly embarrassed yet utterly debauched.

“This was..” Eames starts, his eyes searching over Arthur’s face.

“Yeah, it was,” says Arthur with feeling.

Eames stares at him for long seconds and then appears to come to some sort of decision. “So, I uh.. turn 17 next week.”

Arthur feels himself straighten. “I’m aware.”

Eames steps closer and trails a finger down the center of Arthur’s chest. “And I know what I want as my present.’

Arthur, against his better judgment, licks his lips. “Oh yeah?”

Eames curves his hand around Arthur’s hip and pulls their bodies together, turning his head to say directly into Arthur’s ear, “I want you to fuck me.”

Arthur fails to suppress a shudder of pleasure.

“Eames, I don’t think..”

Eames tongue flicks at the shell of his ear. “Stop thinking, Arthur. Doesn’t that get tiresome after a while?”

Arthur laughs, bemused, and palms Eames’ ass, absently. “You’re a cocky bastard, you know that?”

Eames leans into the touch. “Perhaps, but you know I’m right.”

Arthur doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then he looks at Eames and says, “I usually pass by where your booth is around 5:30.”

Eames nods, a small smile forming, but his mouth looks awkward as if he’s biting back a larger reaction. “I’ll be sure to switch my shift with Davey.”

They smile at one another, a little shyly, and Arthur leans forward to kiss him because he can’t get enough of those lips. He leaves Eames shaking and breathless.

“Fuck, Arthur, you drive me crazy,” Eames breathes, resting their foreheads together.

“Ditto,” Arthur gives his ass a final squeeze and opens the door.

“Bye,” Eames says with a little wave and Arthur feels his stomach flip.

“Bye.” Arthur closes the door and leans against it. He runs his tongue over his lips; he can still taste Eames. It’s then he realizes just what deep shit he’s in yet he can’t bring himself to care.

[end]


End file.
